


It's Always You

by sarahxxxlovey



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: College, Domestic Fluff, Endgame, F/M, Fluff, High School, Lydia Martin Loves Stiles Stilinski, Post-Canon, Stiles Stilinski Loves Lydia Martin, Stydia, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, this is so fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-29 04:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16256588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahxxxlovey/pseuds/sarahxxxlovey
Summary: Stiles has always fallen in love easily. Over the years, it feels like he’s fallen in love a million times."Funny, each time I fall in love. It's always you."





	It's Always You

 

__ Wherever you are, you're near me   
You dare me to be untrue   
Funny, each time I fall in love   
It's always you

* * *

She calls him a sap at least once a day.

A sap or a cheese ball or corny or a variety of other adjectives and nouns to describe how wildly in love he is with her and the fact that they’re finally together. 

He must tell her a thousand times a day and she probably enjoys the attention a bit, but she’s shy like he didn’t expect and every time he says it, he sees a new side of her, a side that loves him too, a disbelief underneath the surface that tells him that she never thought she'd have this either.

They go for a drive (because what else is there to do on spring nights in Beacon Hills?) and he holds her hand over the gear shift of the Jeep and listens to her ramble on and on about whatever book she’d read last week. Something about the Roche Limit and gravitational pull and a lot of other stuff that he didn’t quite understand enough to explain with any sense.

“I love it when you talk nerdy,” he says as he grins.

“You’re so corny,” she says matter-of-factly, “Literally. So corny. Why do I date you?”

“It’s true,” he replies just as seriously, pulling her hand up to press a kiss to her knuckles, “It really is one of the seven unnatural wonders of the world.” 

She smiles at him then, her eyes full of affection and he falls in love again.

She breaks the gaze and asks about his school work.

“It’s uh… going,” he says, wincing at how avoiding the answer sounds.

“Stiles…” 

“I may or may not have forgotten to write the paper that’s due Monday.”

“Stiles! You’ve had a whole month to write that paper!”

“Yeah, well maybe I was distracted.”

“What would possibly distract you that much?” she says with an eye-roll. 

“You,” he says, watching her reaction closely. 

She rolls her eyes again. 

“It’s always you,” he says sheepishly and he can see in her expression that she’s melting a little bit and that expression, it feels better than scoring the winning shot at a lacrosse game and bringing Roscoe back to life and his dad saying he’s proud of him all put together. 

* * *

Melissa drags Scott to the botanical gardens and Scott drags Stiles along too because that’s what happens when you're best friends. It’s a sunny Saturday and Melissa doesn’t have to work tonight and Lydia _does_ have to work tonight and so the boys allow themselves to be dragged along.

The garden really is beautiful, big flowers blooming along the gravel pathways, plants higher than Stiles' head towering over him as the sun starts to set. 

Maybe not the place that he’d choose to spend his only weekend afternoon that’s free of homework, but beautiful nonetheless.

He feels like a sap for even thinking it and he knows deep down that he’s one one of the biggest saps on the planet but even still, he wishes he could show Lydia this place. He wishes he could lean her up against a plant compare the color of the green leaves to the shade of the green in the outside rings of her eyes and then snap a picture to prove that she’s as beautiful as anything nature has ever mde. 

When he looks at the red roses, a little pink and plush as hell, he can’t help but think of her lips, swollen from kissing in the Jeep or up against a locker or in his bed.

It was like she had infiltrated all of his senses. He couldn’t look at the flowers without thinking of her, how they looked as soft as her skin and how the light was glowing looked like her skin too, when it glowed as the sun was setting. The roses in the light buttery orange make him think of her hair and the way she pushes it off her cheeks when she blushes. It even smells like her here. He wonders if her perfume had notes of roses and made a mental note to look it up in the car on the way home. 

He stops in front of a particularly beautiful bush and reads the sign.

_ Rosa rubiginosa.  _

He hears the words in Lydia’s perfect latin at the back of his head. 

Melissa leads them through the gardens and to the exit. (Scott sighs a huge sigh of relief and Melissa gives him a look.)

Stiles is drawn to a coffee mug in the gift shop, the yellowy-orange roses mixed with the ones that look like a sunset and the red ones too, the ones that are the exact same color as Lydia’s lips in her favorite lipstick. 

A second later, he’s in line. 

“What’s that for?” Scott asks as Stiles checks out at the counter.

Stiles blushes.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Scott exclaims with an eye roll. 

“It’s sweet,” Melissa insists, rubbing Stiles between the shoulder blades. “Let him be happy, Scott.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says delicately as he takes his change from the worker. “ _ Shut up _ , Scotty.”

Scott laughs and the three of them walk back to the car, the plastic bag with the mug swinging from Stiles’ hand. 

* * *

Stiles is standing at his locker and and Scott is talking to him but he can’t focus because Lydia just got out of Calculus and she's down the hall down and he’s anticipating it, the moment when the the air lights with flowery perfume and her warm hand is in his.

“Stiles!” Scott snapped, waving his face in front of Stiles’ unfocused eyes.

“Huh? What? I’m listening.”

“No, you’re not,” Scott says with a laugh. 

Stiles is having a hard time focusing knowing that Lydia’s close to standing near him. 

“Yes, I am!” Stiles insists. “You were talking about… uh…” 

Scott slams his locker with a bang as he chuckles. 

In that moment, Lydia walks past them and Stiles’ heart drops in his chest into the most pleasant feeling he’s had in his life. He grabs her hand as she passes and she looks down at where their fingers meet with a smile. He can practically hear Scott rolling his eyes. 

“I love you,” Stiles tells her with a grin.

“I know,” she laughs as she turns back around to walk away from him.

He tugs her hand towards him again and she falls against him, their bodies pressed up against each other. He grabs her face gently and pulls her towards him, planting a firm kiss on her lips. He doesn’t pull away, kissing her tenderly and softly and perfectly in the middle of the Beacon Hills High School hallway.

She sighs against him as she grips the collar of his flannel in her perfectly manicured fingers and his heart melts into a puddle in the middle of his stomach, the noise like a song he’d heard a thousand times in his imagination that he now got to hear played in perfect pitch by an orchestra. 

“Hi,” she sighs when he finally pulls away, her eyes closed and then they open and they’re on his lips and he falls even harder in love with the way her cheeks are flushed, her eyes a little glassy, the little noises she makes when he kisses her.

“Hi,” he whispers back, stroking his thumb across the apples of her cheeks. She leans into the hand and looks up at him.

“Did I mention I love you?” he says. 

She doesn’t say it back all the time but he doesn't care. The fact that he can say it and that it makes her smile (not look at him weird) is worth it a million times over. He knows her past and her history and she feels it and shows it even if she doesn’t always say it. 

She doesn’t always say it back but her eyes always light up when she hears it and for that, he’ll say it whenever he can. 

“You did,” she laughs, leaning up to wrap her arms around his neck and press a kiss to his lips again. 

“Good,” he says in between kisses, “Just thought you should know.”

“C’mon,” she says, walking backwards and pulling on his hand, the sound of the clicking of her heels on the linoleum so nostalgic that he gets all sappy again. “We have to go to lunch, you cheese ball.” 

“Yes, dear.” 

He grins happily and puts his arm around her as they walk towards the cafeteria.

* * *

 

The dorm is small and stiflingly hot at the peak of summer, humid and muggy even despite the poor excuse for an air-conditioner under the window. The unite pumps away noisily as they load in boxes from the Jeep and they leave the door open in an attempt at creating airflow. Lydia insists it’ll work and Stiles has his normal level of skepticism. 

School hasn’t started yet and move-in has _barely_ started and the dorm is mostly deserted which is good for them, good for the blow-up queen air mattress on the floor. They have enough space, enough alone time, soaking up the moments before she flies back to California and Stiles gets to snuggle her in his sleep for as long as he possibly can. 

She helps him unpack all of his clothes. While they’d packed on the other side, she’d somehow developing a method more effective than throwing tee shirts randomly into a box. He’s amazed and simultaneously unsurprised.

He comes up behind her as she puts a flannel on a hanger and he pushes her hair aside, kissing the place where her arm meets her shoulder.

“We’re never going to get anything done if you start with that,” she chides, all but ignoring him.

“What’s wrong with that?” he chuckles. 

“That we won’t get anything done,” she says flatly with pursed lips, her expression full of disapproval.

“Well why don't we just take a break?” he begs. “It’s hot and I’m sweaty.” 

“Fine,” she says with an eye roll, giving in easily because it's hot too, and she hops onto the bed, crossing her legs, the little red sundress she’s wearing riding up her legs and it’s all he can do not to spread them and lick until she begs. Instead he falls onto the desk chair and lets himself sink into it. 

He’s about to open his mouth when the open door to his dorm room reveals a girl walking by in a towel on the way back to her room from the shower. 

“Hm,” Lydia mumbles, even more displeasure in her voice now, and he perks up immediately.

“Is that… a little jealousy I detect in your tone, Ms. Martin?” he questions teasingly. 

“No,” she says, picking imaginary lint off of her dress.

“You sure about that?” he teases, standing up and walking to her slowly. 

“I mean why would I be jealous that some half-naked girl is walking down your hallway?” she says bitterly, glaring at him and crossing her arms in front of him.

It blows his mind that they’re here now, that after all the years of seeing. But it’s so different now, now that he knows what sound she makes when he kisses her hard, that she reaches for his hand as they cross the street together, that they’ve shared a bed more times than he can count. It’s different now that he knows what it’s like to see her cry, to be the one that she leans on, the one who makes her laugh and smile.

Before he gets too deep into those kinds of sappy thoughts, he puts his hands besides her on either side on the bed and leans into her. 

“I could get a fully naked girl in this room if that’s what you’re insinuating,” he laughs, kissing her neck. 

“What if those half-naked girls capture the heart of the innocent boy from California?” she giggles despite herself, his lips tickling her skin. 

“They’d never,” he says mock-seriously. “And hey - I’m not  _ that _ innocent.” 

She raises her eyebrows at him and he shrugs, kissing on her neck again.

“Why would I look anywhere else when I have everything I’ve ever wanted?” he says softly, nuzzling her neck gently.

“Go close the door,” she laughs, pushing him away and biting her lip, looking up at him with an expression that sends a shiver down his spine.

He not only closes the door but locks it too. 

* * *

Stiles has always fallen in love easily. He has always loved hard and fallen harder. Over the years, it feels like he’s fallen in love a million times. The real number probably isn’t that far off. 

He fell in love with a third grade girl in his class when he was eight years old. They sat in the same little grouping of desks and she finished her math exercises early, leaning over onto his desk and pointing out a mistake on his worksheet. 

He fell in love with a girl with long hair in his English class freshman year of high school, the tendrils so long that they spill onto the desk behind her. She laughs dizzily and flips the hair backwards, giving him a dirty look as he stares smittenly at her from the back of the classroom, mouth agape. 

He fell in love with a girl at a funeral, of all places, as she stood across the mourners from him, dressed head to toe in black, arms tightly around herself. She doesn’t cry but he can tell she wants to and the strength that must take overwhelms him. He puts his arm around Scott and tries to forget about the reason they’re there. 

He’s fallen in love for a variety of reasons. For the way a girl said something in class, full of intelligence and making connections in a language that he’ll never have a chance of understanding. The way a girl called him out on his bullshit. The way a girl grasped his arm and sent shivers up his spine. Fallen in love with ambition. With strength and resolve and knowledge. With anger, with passion, with sarcasm, with bitterness. 

He fell in love from a kiss. A kiss pressed frantically against his slightly open mouth, bringing him down from his racing thoughts and pounding heartbeat, the aftermath whispering of possibility in the back of his brain. Another, different kiss later made him fall in love too, frantic for the same reason, full of longing and he swore there was a pull between them. 

He’s fall in love a million times, a million ways, from a million things. 

But whenever he falls in love, it’s always with Lydia Martin.

* * *

 

He looks over at her as she lies next to him in bed, tired bags under her eyes and a grimace on her face. 

“How ya doin’, beautiful?” he asks softly, turning onto his side to face her and playing with a loose strand of her hair. 

She tries to stretch, wiggling around on her back and he can see the discomfort in every inch of her body 

“Been better,” she says with a sharp tone to her voice and then calmer, she adds, “Been worse too though, to be fair.”

“Anything I can do?” he asks, scooting closer. 

“No,” she says sadly, her bottom lip quivering.

“You sure, baby?” he presses, rubbing a flat palm up and down her back. 

“Tell me you love me?” she says in a small voice and he’s afraid she’s going to start crying again. 

“I thought I told you a while back that you were supposed to remember that?” he says, scratching his head in mock confusion. She shoves him playfully and his heart soars at the sight of her smile. 

“Dumb ass,” she quips with an eye roll, wiggling to get comfortable. 

“I do love you, you know,” he says, getting even closer and looking down at her as he props his head up on his elbow, the thumb of his other hand rubbing her cheek softly.

“I do know,” she replies, leaning into his touch and turning onto her side to face him. She looks like an angel, strawberry blonde hair spread out underneath her as she rests her head on her folded hands on the pillow. 

“I’ve loved you for a long, long time, you know that?” he asks, searching her face for an indication of how she’ll respond to him being sappy right now. 

“You have,” she responds with a small smile, her lips pressed tightly together.

“I loved you when you were the first girl I danced with,” he says, and she rests her head on his shoulder like she did all those years ago, clothed in silver satin under a disco ball, before the night went to shit and the only thought in his head was saving her.

“I don’t think I loved you then,” she laughs softly, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his neck, a consolation prize of all the years she spend denying it. 

“I loved you when it was so much more than a crush freshman year of high school,” he chuckles. “And sophomore year and junior year, when I was crazy for you.” 

“You were a little annoying,” she says, scrunching up her nose. 

He laughs until he realizes he's too deep now and all the good and tough memories come flooding back to him in waves that he can't control. The way that she looked lying in a hospital bed, the feeling of his throat raw with screaming her name, sitting in a train station knowing that everyone had forgotten him.

“I loved you when you saved my life, so many times, and when you let me save yours too,” he says seriously, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looks up at him and he sees the love mirrored there, the years of emotions and loss and redemption, and he falls in love all over again with the way that she looks at him. 

“I know,” she whispers, her voice low and choked. 

His heart beats faster in his chest and he feels like he’s a teenager again, sitting in the front of his car, their fingers intertwined, eyes full of tears, counting down the seconds until she forgot him.

“I loved you when you got on the floor of the boys locker room,” he says softly and he can see her itching to call him a sap but deeper down, he knows that sometimes she needs to hear this, the validation that every moment of their story was important.

“You did?” she asks. Her voice sounds so small and unsure, so un-Lydia-like.

“When you kissed me, when you got down on your knees on the disgusting floor of the boys locker room in a pretty blue dress because you wanted to make me feel better…”

She looks up at him and he can see her melt a little bit. 

“…I loved you,” he finishes. 

Her eyes fill with tears and she takes his face in her hands, mirroring those first kisses all those years ago. 

“Then,” she says softly and thickly, her voice taking on the tenderness that he knows only he gets to experience, “I loved you then.” 

He kisses her firmly and hugs her tight to him, but not as tight as he could all those years ago. 

“This thing is always in the way,” she laughs wetly, rubbing the tears from under her eyes and holding a hand to her stomach.

He looks down at her and agrees, but knows better than to say anything like that.

“Just a couple more weeks now,” he says with a small smile, rubbing hand down the side of her baby bump. 

“I love you, Stiles,” she says, kissing his cheek.

“I love you,” he replies with all the seriousness in the world because in the end, of course it's Lydia that he's building a life with. Of course it's Lydia holding his hand and carrying his child and falling asleep next to him every night.

He has fallen in love a million times, and it’s always with Lydia.

**Author's Note:**

> Am I ever going to get over Stiles and Lydia? Even the thought of them hurts my heart a little bit. 
> 
> Don't forget to leave a comment x


End file.
